


Farthest

by Sorida



Series: Tales From the Vale...s? [4]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cecil Whump, Cecil is Mostly Human, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Plot Bunny, Protective Cecil, The Voice of Night Vale, Violence, and it is wonderful, but a hair more, i am a cruel person, very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorida/pseuds/Sorida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil loved Night Vale, loved it with all of his body and spirit. Sure, Night Vale took a lot, but it gave back just as much. And when facing potential annihilation at the open maw of a Smiling God, Cecil was willing to give it all back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farthest

**Author's Note:**

> This idea won't leave me alone. Enjoy.

Loss was a funny thing. It hurt sometimes. It was funny sometimes. It was cruel a lot of the time. But at the end of the day, it was just a word. It was a four letter word that could mean everything and nothing at all. Loss was a strange concept because nothing in the universe was really lost per say, simply repurposed and distributed elsewhere. That was one of the laws Carlos was telling him about, right? Energy cannot be created or destroyed, it has to come from somewhere, be it a spark or a human soul. At least, that's how Cecil came to understand it.

So if loss wasn't really a thing, then why did this hurt so much?

In all meanings of the word, Night Vale had lost. In the end, it was that vile double who'd opened the Old Oak Doors once again and while Carlos was by his side once more, the victory was short lived as a terrible light invaded his fair community. It chased away the shadows and the Hooded Figures. It vaporized the City Council and the plastic bags. It blinded every citizen, old and new and in between. It incinerated Night Vale Community Radio Station. It demolished Carlos' laboratory. It invaded every alley, every crevice in Night Vale, destroying and creating and always  _smiling._

And at the epicenter of everything were Cecil and Carlos. Both had been blown back onto the tarmac, one on their stomach and the other on their back. Carlos had been knocked unconscious from the force of the blast, a stream of blood running down his temple and onto the pavement below. Eyes closed, he was spared for the time being. He was dead to the world, unknowing of the forces at play. He would not witness Night Vale's downfall.

Cecil was simply grateful that he and Carlos were still alive. He could feel the town dying, feel as the Smiling God corrupted everything and everyone. The Whispering Forest fell silent. The Librarians no longer shrieked or howled. The helicopters were silent. The people were smiling.

He could feel it all changing and it felt so very wrong. His town, his home, was dying from the inside out while he lay in a heap at the foot of an Old Oak Door. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the forces at play and through the haze of pain and fear, he managed to stand up. He wobbled and he stumbled, but he was standing and he wasn't going back down without a fight. Something dark and powerful bubbled within him as he took shaky steps towards the slightly ajar Old Oak Door.

Straightening his posture, he licked his cracked and dried lips and braced himself. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. With one hand on the brass knob of the Old Oak Doors, he shouted at the blinding light above him.

 **"Smiling God,"** he bellowed across dimensions,  **"You are not welcome here. Night Vale does not welcome beings like**   _ **you.**_ _ **"**_  His words oozed with malice and aggression. Whatever trepidation he had was replaced by burning hatred and fierce protectiveness. This was  _his_ home, not this Smiling God's play area, and he was going to make that perfectly clear.

The light above him shifted, shining brighter and brighter until finally culminating into an ethereal form before its challenger. Cecil didn't blink once. He held gaze with the deity, glaring with as much venom as he could muster.

 _"Oh, you have got to be **joking...** "_ the God drawled.  _"This is your Voice? It is so tiny and insignificant! Your last Voice was much more impressive, albeit a bit on the grating side, but at least he showed some backbone."_

 **"My Hosts are none of your concern,"** the Voice hissed, shoulders becoming tensed and slightly hunched.  **"And it is still me. It doesn't matter what Host I take, for I am still the Voice of Night Vale. That can never change. And you, Smiling God, are encroaching on my territory. You have five seconds to return to the Other Desert Dimension where your kind _belongs_ until I beat your omnipotent gas back through that door." _  
_**

_"Such daring threats for a lesser being."_

**"I've grown stronger since last time. I'm older, I'm more omniscient, and I don't have to brainwash a city in order to survive. I coexist, you invade. One bond based on trust and understanding is stronger than hundreds formed by fear. I will always be stronger than you."**

_"Oh but dear Voice..."_  the Smiling God crooned,  _"You are so overconfident. It's positively adorable! For you see, my boundaries extend outside of my hometown! So many people smile in my name! They are happy! They are productive! They. Are. **Mine.** "_

The wind howled around them and the light grew brighter. Cecil held up a hand to shield his eyes as the wind whipped through his hair and tie. The Voice was about to respond, but before Cecil could open his mouth, a tendril of light slammed through his chest.

There was no blood. There was no physical injury beyond getting the wind knocked out of his body. But it hurt. The Voice screamed as Cecil collapsed onto his knees. There was so much pain as merged consciences were ripped apart. The sense of wrongness was building and Cecil felt completely  _violated._ The tendril continued to work its way through his soul, separating the ancient entity from its young host. Cecil screamed, clawed at any and every part of himself, raked his nails across skin until blood bubbled to the surface in hopes of stopping this vile intrusion. But the light never stopped and The Voice was shredded and ripped and so very silent.

When the light finally passed, Cecil collapsed in a shaking heap. His body convulsed on the cold asphalt, pupils dilated and breaths heavy. He didn't feel whole. A part of himself was torn away, possibly never to be seen again. With trembling arms, he raised himself into a sitting position. Tears streamed down his face and he had to look away from the deity before him.

There were two glowing wisps now. One was bright yellow, strong, and blinding. The other was deep mauve with traces of black, ever-swirling, and much smaller. Yellow held Purple. Purple squirmed to no avail. The sense of wrongness grew with every passing second and suddenly, Cecil understood.

Night Vale kept many secrets. For better or worse, nobody talked about these secrets. Nobody questioned them. There was a reason.

And Cecil, innocent little Cecil Gershwin Palmer, got roped into something much bigger than himself. He lost many things and gained few. Night Vale took his identity, took his family, and took his life for its own. But as much as Night Vale took away, it paid back with interest. He was given his show. He was given The Voice. He was given Carlos.

Carlos, the imperfect scientist with perfect hair, the man who taught him to love again. Carlos, who, as every second passed, was getting his life stolen by the smiling monger before him. Carlos was innocent. Carlos belonged to no one. Carlos did not deserve to get caught up in the drama that was Cecil Gershwin Palmer's life. But he did and out of the two of them, Carlos was suffering for it.

Looking over his shoulder, Cecil could clearly see his unconscious lover. There was a smile spreading over that handsome face, a feral smile. This smile was unnatural, forced. Carlos should not be forced to smile, nobody should. And in that moment, Cecil realized that the rest of Night Vale must look like this. Everywhere, citizens were smiling and losing themselves to the Smiling God. It wasn't their fault, it was never their fault. No, Night Vale was not at fault.

Even though fighting was futile, Night Vale was trying. Purple flared and stretched and fumed. Yellow held fast and manifested more power to subdue its prey. Night Vale was weaker. Night Vale was going to fall.

"Smiling God." His words no longer resonated the way they used to. They felt emptier, but they still held meaning. They held a lot of meaning.

Both entities ceased their brawl, attention drawn to the shaking, weakened mortal before them. Purple shivered. Yellow was intrigued.

 _"Human,"_ the deity replied.  _"Do not trifle in matters you cannot understand."_

"Oh, but I do understand," Cecil snapped, cutting off whatever the God was about to say next. He could feel it bristle in annoyance while the other pleaded for him to stop.  _You will die_ was what it had whispered. And maybe he would, but he'd rather die than have an empty existence with a Smiling God.

 **"Child...do not,"**  The Voice pleaded. It was strange hearing his own voice try to soothe him. But that was its job and for now, Cecil had to ignore it.

"I am my own person," he said calmly. "I can make my own decisions and this is it. Smiling God, Night Vale is not yours for the taking. You may have some form of control over us now, but that will not last long. The people here are resilient, far more than those in  _Desert Bluffs_. We die by the dozens. We don't stay completely dead. We survive Librarians and Transdimensional Oranges and  _Deer._ We don't give up and let me tell you, after the Strex invasion, we aren't going to let things happen for us." Through his speech, he'd stepped closer and closer to the two powers. He wasn't afraid, not anymore. No, he was brave like Tamika and smart like his boyfriend. He was being himself.

The Smiling God hesitated, its light fluttering to a standstill. A second later, it sputtered out a sound of rage.  _"This is not possible! I have hundreds upon thousands of believers! I have far more power than you!"_

"You may have more believers, but you do not have a community. And a community, while small and mortal, is far more powerful than anything you could imagine," Cecil said smugly. As he spoke, Purple managed to writhe and twist away, flying up and away from its Host and Enemy. It spread through the sky, turning gold into magenta, rallying its citizens to fight back once more. It was time to win the war.

But even spurred on by newly awakening citizens, the Smiling God held more Night Valeans than Night Vale itself. Cecil was alone. The Smiling God was furious.

Behind the Host lay the Scientist. The Scientist was a trump card. Whizzing past the Host, the Smiling God launched itself towards the Scientist, invading the man's body and quickly taking it as its own. The Scientist was shoved farther back into his mind as the deity reigned supreme.

Cecil's head snapped in the direction of his boyfriend, the fear returning as he stared into the blindingly bright eyes of his boyfriend. Already, the sky above him was beginning to transition back into a yellow hue. Night Vale could only fight for so long.

"Get out of him." His Voice was small, much smaller than he'd ever remembered it being. His eyes travelled over Carlos' possessed body, anxiety and dread mixing into a deadly combination of near-defeat.

 _"Where's your bravado, Host?"_ The word sounded wrong coming out of Carlos' mouth. The voice he loved, the man he loved...he was going to lose him. He was going to lose Night Vale. The tears were falling again, this time due to crushing hopelessness rather than physical agony. Carlos' face twisted into a triumphant smirk.

"I..." Cecil was at a loss for words. He couldn't speak, didn't know what to say. They were going to lose everything and everyone in a half-fought battle for power.

 _"Such a shame, to only have power when one's Parasite is near,"_ the Smiling God sighed.  _"I'll admit, you demonstrated potential, just like another man I've met. He believes now, but you two were very similar. He had great power, of course, not as great as mine. I own him, as I do your Scientist."_

"You do not own Carlos!" Cecil shouted, Voice filled with emotion. "No one owns another sentient being!"

_"Except for Gods, Host. Gods do what they want."_

"I don't care who you are or what you call yourself." The anger was mounting. Something was building in his throat. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. It was warm and strong and it felt familiar. Like...

Like when he did the show.

_"You should. You're just a Host. You cannot do anything to defy me."_

**"You. Are. WRONG!"**

A power stored deep inside him suddenly surged to the surface. He still felt incomplete, but maybe this was why he was chosen. Night Vale still had its secrets, this being one of them. The Voice of Night Vale was chosen by Night Vale. Now he knew how and why. Perhaps every Voice had been born with The Voice. Confusing? A bit. But in this moment, Cecil couldn't care less. He watched with glee as the cocky expression melted from the Smiling God's possessed face and as the skies above them flooded with magenta.

His Voice had carried throughout Night Vale, just as the Voice was supposed to do. But they were not finished yet, not by a landslide.

 _"I have the Scientist,"_ the Smiling God reasoned.  _"You cannot eradicate me without eradicating him."_

 **"That may be true,"** Cecil confessed, but he knew the next card he had to play. Night Vale had been returned to itself. He was incomplete without it. His prophecy was over and he had to accept that. This was his role, this was his fate, and if fate had him end as a martyr, then so be it.

Night Vale took a lot, but it gave more than everything back. It was time for Cecil to do the same.

 **"Smiling God, how would you wager a deal?"** The Smiling God was intrigued and wary.  **"You have been defeated here, yet you hold one final piece of us, of Night Vale. The Scie-...Carlos is important to us and you know that. But for the good of the community, we will not hesitate to shove both of you back through the Old Oak Door, beaten and bloody. However, I am willing to make a trade."**

_"What could you possibly trade? You have nothing."_

**"I am willing to go as far as I need to for my town,"** Cecil stated.  **"You will return to the Other Desert Dimension, without Carlos, and unharmed."**

_"That doesn't sound like a deal. Have you never heard of equivalent exchange? Something of equal value must be traded for what you want. Unless...are you that foolish? Are you that desperate? Tell me, what is your price?"_

**"In return...you can have my Voice."**

There was a wide, unnatural smile.

Then, there was nothing.

* * *

 

Groaning, Carlos clawed his way back into consciousness. His head hurt, his body ached, and the pavement was way too cold for anyone to be laying on. Without really registering his surroundings, he managed to get himself into a sitting position and simply held his head in his hands.

When the stars stopped their constant barrage on his eyeballs, Carlos slowly took in his surroundings. Night Vale...yes, he remembered this street. That lamppost was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness. The Old Oak Door was gone, also a good sign. But there was debris everywhere. That couldn't be good. And there was a body to his right, a very familiar body. It was neither tall or short, fat or skinny, and wore a piece of metal around the right wrist...

"Cecil?" Carlos squeaked, crawling towards his boyfriend. Cecil was only a few feet away, face down on the road. Gently, Carlos tapped his shoulder, fear flooding through him when Cecil didn't respond. As carefully as he could, he rolled Cecil's body so that his head rested on Carlos' legs. What he saw nearly made him gag.

A large, gaping, bloody hole radiated from Cecil's neck down to his sternum. While bone was not visible, Carlos could clearly make out severed muscle. Blood still oozed from the wound, running in streams down Cecil's neck. Although, the most curious thing about it was that no major veins or arteries were severed and Cecil's trachea seemed to be in tact if the man's breathing was anything to go by. The wound was so precise, so careful, as if the attacker didn't want Cecil to die, but simply wanted to cause him pain.

As Carlos thought it over, Cecil's eyes began to flutter open. Pure relief set in before the pain did and Cecil opened his mouth to speak, so excited for everything to be over and to have Carlos back home.

All that escaped was a raspy breath.

The two men locked eyes, understanding passing between them. Carlos ran a shaking hand through Cecil's hair, murmuring sweet nothings to him. Cecil closed his eyes, gasping when the pain became intolerable and finally passing out when the EMTs from Night Vale General finally arrived.

They would learn to cope, they would learn together. But as Cecil slept in the hospital bed, Carlos couldn't help but cry. That dreadful Understanding was too much. Carlos never wanted to learn how far Cecil would go. Now, they both had.

And with all of his heart, he hoped that, in the end, it wouldn't destroy Cecil.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Meh ending is meh.
> 
> I don't know if I'll pick this up and continue, but I just wanted to get this out here and write it. It was fun and I'm a huge fan of Protective!Cecil. :)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and thanks for reading!


End file.
